


23 Ways To Say "I Love You"

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 02:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on prompts I received fromthis post





	23 Ways To Say "I Love You"

  1. **“I dreamt about you last night.”**



It's the first thing that comes out of her mouth when Dolls asks her how her first day out of Purgatory went.  Wynonna feels her face heat and starts pacing, leaves crunching under her boots as she wills him to please, _please_ just ignore that.

No such luck.  She hears him clear his throat through the phone, can almost _see_ his eyes widen before blinking a few times, then she hears, “Uh, one more time?”

“I… dreamt about you last night?” she repeats, mortified and uncertain.

“Never pegged you as so sentimental,” he teases, but his voice isn't unkind and she loosens her shoulders up.  “I miss you too, Wynonna.”

Scoffing, she scuffs her toes through the dirt and mumbles, “I've only been gone a _day.”_  She feels warm, though.

  1. **“I saved a piece for you.”**



The thing is that Dolls was trying really hard to be on time--since leaving Purgatory, he and Wynonna have always tried to make it to birthdays, major holidays.  It's just that he cut it so _close_ .  Days before, Wynonna had gone on ahead while Dolls stayed home (well, where they were holed up for now, no one place ever becomes _home_ , but neither of them mind) still battling it out because he's _not dead, dammit_ , and just wants to get his passport reinstated.  By the time he managed to get everything taken care of after a few terse phone calls reminding a few choice individuals how deeply he's owed, had gotten his passport in hand, had landed in Ontario, it's nearing midnight and Waverly's birthday is almost completely passed.

Harried, tired, and guilty, he takes a cab to the hotel they're staying at and heads up to the room Wynonna had texted him.  When he knocks, the door swings open and in spite of it having been less than a week, she holds him close and tight and kisses him like they've been apart for _months_ and he never gets sick of that.

“Where's…” he trails off as he follows her into the empty suite.

“Secret secret, strictly coupley plans,” she explains.  “We'll see them at breakfast.” As he collapses onto the bed, she comes to him and hands him a cold plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it.  “I saved you a piece.”

  1. **“Take my jacket, it's cold outside.”**



If asked, Wynonna couldn't say why they were fighting.  Something about her being reckless, something about him not trusting her decisions, something, something, something.  It reaches a point when she just knows she can't be there any longer and she'll _walk_ home before she lets him drive her and when she says as much, the angry tic in his jaw is somehow satisfying.  She stomps over to the door when she hears her name, quiet and mad but no longer the actual _shouting_ from a moment before.

She doesn't turn and chews the inside of her cheek and asks, “What?”

“I--take my jacket, it's cold outside.”  That gets her to turn. He doesn't look angry anymore, looks resigned and _worried_.

She looks over at the coat rack for a long, considering moment, gives herself time to breathe.  “Can we start over?” she asks softly.

  1. **“It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway.”**



When Dolls calls her at, like, one in the morning, she's almost relieved because she's been staring at the ceiling for the last three hours.  All he asks is if he can come over, and it sounds urgent enough that she doesn't hesitate to say of course. She waits on the front porch in her pajamas, but she doesn't have to wait long before the SUV is pulling in and she bounds down the steps--she half-reaches for him as he hops out but thinks better of it and demands, “Dude, what's wrong?”

“So, I found this dog in my apartment this evening,” he explains, rushing to the back and opening up the hatchback.  “And, like, I'm not supposed to have them--like _really_ not supposed to have them.  Like someone heard--” she watches, bewildered, as he pulls out a laundry basket overflowing with blankets or towels and _whimpering_ , “One of these guys and long story short the landlord threatened to evict me if I didn't do something with them.”

“Them?” Wynonna repeats.  “You said you found a dog--”

She follows him into _her house_ where he sets the basket down and lifts up the top blanket to reveal a cream-colored mutt and like five or six wriggling, very very new puppies.

“Oh,” she breathes.  “Dude, you scared the shit out of me, I thought this was like someone was dying.”

“Sorry,” he frowns.  “I didn't know where else to take them at least until morning, I didn't mean to wake you or--”

“It's okay,” she interrupts, bemused and staring at him in wonder.  “It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway.”

  1. **“Drive safely.”**



The morning Wynonna leaves, her sister sends her off coldly and the guilt in the pit of her stomach signals she kinda deserves that.  It wasn't the kind of thing she shoulda kept from her, but she doesn't quite know how to make it right and she's _always_ been good at leaving.  Even though she'd told Dolls the plan the night before, it feels unfinished, and there's something that feels like bad luck about leaving unfinished business before a journey.  She can't explain that, exactly, but she goes to his apartment anyway. Could be some part of her isn't quite ready to see Mama yet and she's trying to put that off.

Dolls answers the door looking drawn and tired and oh boy does that not help lessen that guilty feeling.  It doesn't necessarily help that it's technically too soon after shoving a small human out of her vagina to be doing much of anything and her hormones are going a little crazy, swinging wildly from one end of the spectrum to the other.  She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, and she feels awful and tired and sore and _scared_ and before she knows it she's got arms around her.  Some mangled, pathetic sort of noise works its way out of her as she buries her face into his neck.  They stay like that for a while, and she feels cold when he pulls away.

It's a little too much, staring up at him, and she doesn't really know what to say, or how to say it, or how to leave this.

“Come back, okay?” he says gently, using both hands to tuck her hair back behind her ears.  She nods, shuts her eyes tight when his lips press to her forehead. “Call me when you get there.  Drive safely.”

  1. **“It looks good on you.”**



From inside the dressing room, Wynonna can hear Dolls grumbling to himself and snorts.  Next to her, Nicole smirks, and she thinks maybe, just _maybe_ , the reason she agreed to this color scheme was to make Wynonna and Dolls uncomfortable.  The first hint had been when the happy couple told them the bridal parties would be wearing pastels and Nicole had glanced at both of them--Dolls in his earth tones and Wynonna in her grungy black--and asked, “Think you can handle that?”

“When you said _pastels_ , I was thinking more a lavender dress shirt,” Dolls says behind the curtain.  There is a distinct lack of rustling fabric, so he's clearly done dressing, he's just being a baby.

“C'mon, dude, I went through pink, yellow, _and_ periwinkle dresses, don't be a bitch,” Wynonna laughs.

Finally, and with a little bit of a flourish, the curtain opens and out he steps and he looks--he looks _hot_ .  Like, hide-your-girl, mouth-gone-dry hot.  Frowning a bit, he fucks with the cuffs of the jacket--not lavender, a few shades lighter and pinker, but good on him for trying--and doesn't seem to notice Wynonna's gape.   _Nicole_ notices and nudges her with her shoulder and asks, “So, what do you think?  I'm thinking we found a winner.”

Now, Dolls looks at her and his expression shifts from self-conscious to pleased when Wynonna can't bring herself to say anything immediately.  “It, uh--yeah, it looks good on you.”

  1. **“Can I kiss you?”**



They sorta did things out of order, but it wouldn't have been them if they hadn't messed it up somehow.  They said their _I love yous_ , they fucked, had their first kisses, all before dating, all before _considering_ dating.  It's not that Dolls didn't know he wanted to date her and didn't have the distinct feeling she wanted to date him, it's just that it's a little outside both of their comfort zones.  Sex is easy, the emotional aspect wasn't _as_ easy but he's known her for so long and loved her so long, it's as natural as breathing now.  Now, at the end of their first date--their first real date, not lunch or before-work coffee or dinner at the homestead--they stand in front of her door as she jiggles her keys in her hand and twists her lips and looks just about everywhere but at him.  At least he knows he's not the only one who isn't quite sure what to do here.

He reaches for her hands and they still, and _now_ her eyes are on his.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hey,” he answers, half-laugh.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks.

The ridiculous part is the way his heart leaps up into his throat and how all he can do is nod.

  1. **“I like your laugh.”**



Now, Dolls hasn't been drunk in a _very_ long time and it sorta happened before he expected it--it hit him so hard and so fast he's almost dizzy, and Wynonna seems steady and sober by comparison.  As Waves mans the bar--a favor to Doc, who enigmatically explained he had “business”--he and Wynonna try to beat Nicole and Jeremy at darts. It's hard to tell if they're actually that much better at it or if he and Wynonna have just had that much more to drink than them.  When it's his turn, he steps up, aims carefully, and throws a dart that… bounces off the bottom of the board.

It strikes him as so funny he doubles over until his abs ache and he thinks he may actually be crying a little.  Still shaking with laughter, he straightens up and says to Wynonna, “Babe, I've failed us.”

Wynonna considers him for a moment, and in that moment he completely forgets everyone else is there, and she says thoughtfully, “I like your laugh.”

  1. **“Is this okay?”**



The first time they had sex, it was a rush of heated emotions, fear and lust and relief and need.  It was bruising grips and kisses and years of pent-up emotion and tension released in every touch--and don't get him wrong, it had been good and weirdly cathartic, and it was so very _them_ that he can't begrudge it.  Now, though, now they've got all the time in the world, and he intends to use it.  His mouth is at her neck, sucking kisses just under her ears, as his hand teases just below the hem of her shirt--he can hear her quiet gasps and feel her belly jump with every sharp inhale.

He lets his hand slide upward as he asks, low and close to her ear, “Is this okay?”

He _feels_ every part of her freeze and pushes up onto his elbow to search her face for any sign of--what?  Discomfort, anxiety, anything. But all he sees is surprise. His hand is stopped at the bottom of her ribcage and he can feel her shallow breaths.

“What's--”

“It's nothing,” she interrupts, shaking her head and pushing up, but he stops her just before she reaches his lips.

“Not nothing.”

“I--” she stops and he can almost feel her embarrassment.  Her eyes drop for a moment before she peeks back up at him and lifts one shoulder.  “No one's ever asked that before.”

  1. **“I think you're beautiful.”**



Dolls knows he's being stared at before he even opens his eyes.  He can feel how still Wynonna is next to him--carefully still, quiet so as not to wake him, but tense in an unmistakably not-asleep way.  It doesn't _really_ bother him, but he can't help but prompt, eyes still shut, “Something you'd like to share with the class?”

“Not particularly,” she answers, voice unnervingly clear.  She's been up a while.

Fingertips trace down his nose, over his cheekbones, across his lips ticklishly and he snorts.  She briefly touches his eyelids and his exposed ear. It's harmless but her silence feels significant.  When he finally does look at her, her face is serene and untroubled--she's just watching him. “What?” he asks softly.

“I just--” she bites her lip and smiles privately.  “I think you're beautiful.”

  1. **“There is enough room for both of us.”**



Dolls tries to crank the engine one more time, but this time it just clicks uselessly and he drops his head into the steering wheel with a groan.  “We could always take the bike,” Wynonna reminds him. “Hard pass,” he says.

“Why not?” she asks.

“It's… small,” he responds with a frown.

She knows he's lying.   _He_ knows she knows he's lying.  “Well,” she says, eyes sparkling with amusement, “There _is_ enough room for both of us.  And I've got two helmets. _And_ it's kind of our only option.  And,” she leans over the center consul and presses a sweet kiss to his cheek, “I'm a really good driver.”

  1. **“Wow.”**



It's really all he can say when he sees her.  It's not that he's not fully aware that she's gorgeous, sexy, hot--it's not even that he forgot how well she cleans up.  It's just that every time takes his breath away, and he's also fully aware how cheesy that sounds. He can tell she's pleased with herself and, when she's close enough, he reels her in, pecks her dimples and her forehead and her lips until she laughs, bright and warm and _real_ .   _“Wow_ ,” he repeats, because it bears repeating.

“Oh, I like that,” she murmurs.

He kisses her again, then offers his arm, which she takes, and asks, “Shall we?”

“I follow your lead, boss,” she teases.

  1. **“Cross my heart and hope to die.”**



Bad, it's real bad.

She knows it's bad because he doesn't protest when she drags his head into her lap, can feel him shaking with a chill that she can't feel, and her eyes are stinging with tears she doesn't want to fall yet and she's begging him nonsensically to stay awake, look at her, stay with her.  He's got blood on his hand when he touches her face but it's fine, it's fine, just don't--“Paramedics are coming so I'm gonna need you to--to stick around because you need to tell them about your weird lizard body,” she teases lamely.

His eyes are distant and he only barely seems to register what she's saying, or at least that's what she thinks until he mumbles, “If I make it, will you stop calling it my weird lizard body?”

Choking on a laugh, she nods as sirens approach and presses her forehead to his.  “Yeah--yeah, I promise,” she says. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  1. **“Stay over.”**



It's an unnerving habit of hers, leaving almost as soon as the sweat dries.  He wishes he were bigger than the way it makes him feel when she does--she always spends a quarter of an hour kissing him before she finally makes it to the door, he _knows_ it's not just--

In any case, he hates it.  He doesn't know how to ask her not to leave or how to say how badly he wants to wake up with her or how _he_ needs that.  And maybe there's something like shame, there, too, that he does.

That night, when she sits up and he can see her silhouette in the dark, words catch in his throat as he sits up and reaches for her, feels her start when his fingers land on her hand even as he drags himself closer.  He presses his closed lips, then his forehead to her shoulder and tangles their fingers together. The only thing he can think to say is, “Stay over.”

It's said so quietly she could pretend she didn't hear it--it's not everything or enough, but she seems to get it because he hears her answering, “Okay,” and soon he's on his back and her thigh is caught between his and she's peppering his face with kisses, blindly and clumsily.  After, she settles into his side, almost uncomfortably warm but but so much that he'd sacrifice her presence. It may be minutes or hours later when she whispers a promise to stay into his skin--it doesn't feel quite real in the dark, but he wakes up tangled up in her the next morning.

  1. **“You're warm.”**



Shaking like a leaf, Wynonna finishes her business in the bathroom and does her best not to touch the floor too much on her quick retreat back to the bedroom.  She damn near _leaps_ into bed under the covers and Dolls barely looks away from his book until she burrows into his side as if she's trying to inhabit the same space as him.  She gets her hands under his shirt and he hisses and tries to twist away from him, laughingly demanding, “What is your _problem?”_

“You're warm,” she says.  “I'm _freezing.”_

Groaning, put-upon, he sets his book down and hikes the blanket up around them as he curls around her.  “Better?”

  1. **“I was just thinking about you.”**



If there's one thing Wynonna can actually make, it's breakfast.  It's her one saving grace, her Mona Lisa, her--okay, she needs to stop, but the point is is that she makes one _hell_ of a breakfast and she loves almost every second of it (bacon grease burning the shit out of her arms is less than ideal).  She's right in her breakfast-making groove, including an oldies Spotify playlist blasting because she's got the house to herself, when she realizes she's making more food than a single person can consume.  Since he was gonna pick her up anyway, she grabs her phone, pauses Spotify, and calls Dolls.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” he says after the second ring.

Flush rising up her chest she swallows and asks, “Were you just thinking you'd like to help me eat the inhuman amount of hashbrowns I just prepped?”

  1. **“Sweet dreams.”**



Everything hurts and there's an elephant on his chest and he hates his life.  They can fuse his DNA with a dragon, but they can't make him immune to the common cold.  He's only marginally less miserable than he would be if he were alone because, as it turns out, Wynonna is a pretty good nurse.  Her bedside manner is about what you'd expect from her, but she anticipates his needs with surprising ease, and the company isn't half bad, either.  She lets him lay with his head in her lap and massages his scalp, and he's struck by the care and tenderness in every action--even at their best, there tends to be more ribbing than declarations of love.  Instead of saying any of this, he knows somehow pointing it out will ruin it, he holds his tongue.

His voice is rough and his throat aches when he warns, “I'm gonna fall asleep on you.”

Her fingers don't stop moving and her eyes stay on the TV as she gives him a distracted, “Okay, sweet dreams.”

  1. **“I was in the neighborhood.”**



Dolls probably shouldn't be here.  It's not really his place--typically, on the anniversary…  Well, that's Wynonna's guaranteed day off. He doesn't ask where she goes or what she does, just makes it clear that he's there, whatever she needs, but this year feels different somehow.  He wonders if it has anything to do with how close they are to breaking the curse--whatever the reason, he can't help going to the homestead. What he finds is a bonfire that's probably reached unsafe heights, with Wynonna hunkered nearby.  Her eyes glitter in the flickering light and he's not even sure she notices him approach until he kneels next to her--her eyes widen then, and he knows she's drunk, more than drink.

“Whaddya doin’ere?” she demands.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says softly.  Closer, eyes adjusted to the firelight, he can also see she's been crying.  “Can I sit a while?”

  1. **“Stay there.  I'm coming to get you.”**



“I want it on record that I'm _not_ drunk,” Wynonna says thickly, bar towel held to her nose.  The other end of the line is silent and she waits, bruised and bloodied knuckles stinging in a way she feels like she can _hear_ which doesn't make any sense.  “It wasn't my fault, I didn't--they talked about--Daddy and Waves and me and I--”

“Wynonna,” Dolls interrupts.  “You're at Shorty’s?”

Sniffing painfully, she nods before she remembers he can't see that and says, “Yeah.”

“Okay, stay there.  I'm coming to get you.  You need a hospital?” he asks, voice so calm it doesn't feel real.

She looks at her hands.  “Maybe.”

“Five minutes.”

  1. **“You can tell me anything.”**



The problem, such as Dolls sees it, is that no matter how often they fuck up because they don't talk, they keep coming back to this.  Frustrated and tired and pissed off because they didn't just talk it out to begin with. He demands, “What are you so goddamn scared of, Wynonna?”

It's harsher than he means it, and, going by the look on her face, he thinks probably a little too close to home.  Because she loses all color and her whole body changes from defiant and angry and challenging, everything shifts inward, and he wonders--what _is_ she so scared of?  Then, there's something like shame, and regret weighs on his tongue.

“Hey,” he says, softer this time, reaching for her until she--well, she doesn't _quite_ flinch, but it's enough to make his hands drop to his side.  “You can tell me anything, you know? I need you to talk to me.”

  1. **“I want you to be happy.”**



“Are you sure?” Dolls asks, looking _way_ more excited than Wynonna would have guessed.

“Of course, baby,” she says, scratching between his shoulder blades.  “I want you to be happy. If this makes you happy…”

His excitement fades into a feigned annoyance and he rolls his eyes.  “You know what? I was gonna feel bad for spending all your tickets on these headphones, but with that attitude…”

  1. **“Be careful.”**



“I don't like leaving you here,” Wynonna confesses when it's just the two of then after they'd agreed on a plan.  Her grip is vice-like on his hand with worry he doesn't think he's felt from her before.

“Well,” Dolls says evenly, “I don't much like this plan, but one of us has to be a big damn hero and I'm sorta attached to machinery, so…”

For a moment, the only noise _is_ that machinery, all chirps and electric humming, but then she nods decisively, stands, and kisses his temple.  “You're right, and you _know_ how much I hate that.”

It only hurts a little when he laughs, and she squeezes his hands before letting go.

“Hey, Earp,” he says before she's gotten the door open.  When she turns, all he can say is, “Be careful.”

  1. **“I love you.”**



“Say it again,” he whispers in the dark, into her hair.

“Hmm?” Wynonna hums sleepily.  “Say what?”

“Wynonna,” he groans, nosing into the back of her neck.  His arms around her tighten, and he feels her soft laugh--not amusement but incredulity--as her fingers twine with his.

“I love you,” she says.  “So much. So very, very much that I'm gonna give you a warning--let me _sleep_ ,  Xavier.”  There's no heat in her tone, though--and, anyway, he doesn't think she hates saying it so much herself.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs.

“Now that we've established _that_ ,” she says warmly, “Go the fuck to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, my _very_ [good friend](http://lunafeather.tumblr.com) who likes to see me suffer requested a whopping 23 prompts (which is fair since the list ft 100 so. I get it). I hope everyone enjoyed them!
> 
> As always, please feel free to swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) if you haven't already!


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